london bridges
by FlopsyOllie
Summary: <html><head></head>"Looking back, he should've seen it.  There were a thousand chances where he should've seen it.  But he didn't and he'll never forgive himself for that." Puck/Rachel friendship angst journey.</html>


**london bridges**

_Don't know why, but I've always had this vivid image of Puck and Rachel hanging out on railroad tracks. This is what came of it. Enjoy!_

_I wrote this during the break between the Christmas episode and the Superbowl episode, so parts of it don't make sense anymore. Ignore that fact._

_This song was _hugely_ inspired by _Remembering Sunday _by_ All Time Low

_._

_I don't mean to be a bother  
>But have you seen this girl?<br>._

It's been three days. He hasn't slept since then.

It's pretty hard to sleep after you let someone die.

The cup of coffee sits in front of him on the desk, a murky brown film covering the top. It's cold. His hands are shoved in his lap, shaking in between his knees. He can't look anyone in the eye because he might start crying or punch someone. Maybe both. Would they send him to jail for that? Is one of the five stages of grief a federal offense?

The police officer across the desk sighs, clicking her pen again. For once, they're not here to talk about him.

"Mr. Puckerman, I understand this is a difficult time for you. But can you please tell me what you knew?"

He presses his thumbs together, staring at the coffee in the styrofoam cup.

"I didn't know anything."

"Nothing at all?"

He _suspected_. Worried. Agonized. But he didn't _know_. _How could he not fucking know-_

"No."

Her picture sits in the file, her school photo, smiling up at him. She hasn't smiled like that in a while, only for fleeting moments…

She won't be smiling anymore. Ever.

"Well, can you at least tell me when this all started?"

_Have you ever been hurt so bad by somebody, you just want to die?_

Damnit. She wants to go back and he can't. Won't. It's too hard and this can't be happening.

The letter still sits underneath his pillow, the only evidence he'll never tell them about.

"Five months ago."

…

It's June. End of the school year, and the heat's so fucking crazy he skips class (not that that's new) to go find some shade. He wanders underneath the bleachers, listening to the cicadas buzz out in the field.

That's where he finds her, sitting on her knees in the dirt, wiping her tears on her tank top. He's seen her cry before, but not in private. Not like this. She likes to keep her most desperate tears to herself.

He's not a total ass, and he figures he should help another Jew out, so he sits down next to her.

"Are you okay?"

She sniffs and doesn't look at him, digging her fingernails into the hard-packed earth. Her skirt's already covered in dust and her voice croaks, saturated with sadness as she speaks.

"Have you ever been hurt so bad by somebody, you just want to die?"

Well, what got _her_ panties in a twist?

Except he remembers the blonde cheerleader who won't look him in the eye and the daughter he'll never know and slowly shakes his head.

"Yeah."

He doesn't flinch when she puts her head on his shoulder.

…

Finn cheated on her for real this time. With Santana. He can't say it surprises him. That doesn't change the fact that he wants to pummel Finn into the ground. Maybe because it's Rachel.

It shocks him that he cares that much.

No. He just gets queasy when girls cry.

…

Two weeks into summer break, the summer before his senior year. His last summer trapped in fucking Lima, Ohio. The last summer before he hightails it out of this cowtown. The last summer hanging around the seven eleven, waiting for someone to buy him beer.

He doesn't get any beer, but he does find Rachel Berry by the magazine rack, hunched over a copy of _Broadway Magazine. _

Of course, he can't figure out why the hell he does it, but he walks up to her and slyly asks, "What'cha reading, Berry?"

Her head snaps up, trembling, staring at the slushie machine a few feet away, "Hello Noah."

He chuckles, "I'm not going to slushie you. I thought we moved past that."

"Well. I'd certainly hope so."

The blank look on her face doesn't suit her. Rachel's always got _something_ there… Usually she's angry at him (hen they're not making out, anyway). Or she's being annoying, going on and on about musicals and her career.

This is different. This is like… she's dead.

"Aren't you supposed to be at that fancy theatre camp by now?"

She closes the magazine brusquely, placing it in front of _Teen Vogue. _"I'm not going this year."

He follows her down and aisle, "Why not?"

"Because I didn't feel like it."

"_You _don't feel like spending your summer at some wacky camp with a bunch of weirdos just as crazy as you, singing your heart out? Were you abducted by aliens?"

"No, Noah, though I appreciate the concern. I just wasn't up for it."

"Because of Finn, right?"

She turns and looks back at him, still distant, "The application was due before we broke up, if you _must _know. So no, it wasn't because of that."

If she's not staying home because of Hudson, then something must be wrong. They're not exactly friends or anything, but he doesn't think Rachel would even let the apocalypse keep her away from a chance to shine, especially shining at some dopey camp with the rest of her kind.

So if it's not him… that means something's _wrong. _As in something's got Berry depressed. Depressed enough to keep her away from her dream.

When the hell did he get so damn curious about some chick he thought he couldn't stand?

"So does that mean your summer's free?"

She pauses in the middle of walking away, "Excuse me?"

"Maybe I'll call you."

She rolls her eyes, flicks her hair, and walks out.

He doesn't like her. They aren't friends. They can't be. But damn, is she _entertaining._

…

At first he doesn't want to call her. She might think he's _interested _or something. He's not. He isn't sure what he is, exactly, but he doesn't like her.

Turns out, he doesn't have to. The Tuesday after he first sees her, she shows up on the side of the road as he's driving home, kicking up dust with her flip flops.

He figures he'll help her out and pulls to a stop just ahead of her, sticking his head out the window.

"Need a ride, ma'am?"

She stares him down for a good five minutes, ranting about how she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself, how he's only talking to her to get into her pants, but eventually she slides into the passenger seat, arms crossed. It's a long walk home.

"Just so you know, I'm not accepting your offer willingly. It's getting dark soon and I don't have the appropriate attire to be walking at night."

All he can do is laugh at her.

"What did I do to make you hate me so much, Berry?"

She glares at him, "My name is Rachel."

"Okay. _Rachel_."

"I don't hate you, Noah. I'm simply not in a good mood," she sighs, arms still crossed over her chest, staring out the passenger window.

"I'm a good listener."

"Sure you are. If this is going where I think it is, you also suddenly love Broadway, your Jewish faith, and you think I have pretty eyes?"

"Hey, I wear my yarmulke with pride. No, I still find you screeching show tunes annoying, and I wouldn't know if your eyes are pretty since I never got past your yakking."

"Well at least now I know you're not going to jump me. Unless you seduce girls by insulting them?"

"I can't be friendly without you thinking I want to have sex with you?"

"Think about your track record, Noah."

"… I guess you have a point."

She lets out a laugh, stifling it with her hand. He grins. At least she's happy now.

"Besides, I think if I tried to seduce you, you'd kill me. So I won't."

"That's a wise choice."

He pulls up in front of her house. She unbuckles and opens the door slowly.

"Thank you, Noah."

"No problem, Rachel. See you around."

There's a glimmer in her eyes as she hops out of the truck, slamming the door shut, "You wish."

…

Two days later his phone rings at noon. He wipes the chlorine water off his hands and grabs his cell phone off the patio table. "Hello?"

"Noah? What are you up to?"

She sounds a little winded. What the hell could she be doing?

"Rachel? Why are you calling me?"

"Because I felt like it. Are you busy?"

"Desperate to get somewhere?"

"Sure," she says softly and pauses for a minute before continuing, "Can you come get me or not?"

He glances down at the filter he still has to clean and Mrs. Stevenson peeking through the curtains, waiting to show him her new wallpaper or whatever the story is this time. Well, she'll have to wait. How long will it take him to clean the filter and scoop out the rest of the bugs?

"Give me twenty minutes?"

"Hurry," she breathes before the line dies silently.

If she's calling him… well, shit must be bad. But what?

…

He makes it to her house in fifteen minutes (not that he was counting). She jumps into the front seat before he puts it in park.

"Where to?"

"Anywhere," she says through her teeth, head resting in her hands.

He isn't actually sure where you're supposed to bring a crazy girl, especially a crazy girl like Rachel, but he has an idea.

"So what's the issue?"

"I'm fine."

"Didn't sound too fine over the phone. You sounded like you were about to die or something."

She chuckles a little, hair falling in her face, "Something like that."

They drive the rest of the way in silence. He pulls into a small clearing and parks next to some railroad tracks hidden in the woods. The trees hang low and are bright green with summer sun. He hops out and strides over to the tracks.

She follows slowly behind, daintily stepping over the rails, "What are we doing here?"

"You said we could go anywhere," he grins and starts walking towards the left, deeper into the woods, stepping over each wooden sleeper, "So I'm going to show you something."

"Isn't this dangerous? We could get run over!"

"Trains don't run through Lima anymore. They're abandoned, so you're safe."

She doesn't answer. Instead she hops up onto the edge and sticks her arms out for balance, placing one foot in front of the other. She looks like a six year old.

"So why'd you call?"

Her voice is cold, "I just wanted to leave."

"You don't need me for that."

"Maybe I wanted some company," she says before losing her balance and falling off the rail, colliding into his shoulder. She straightens herself quickly as he laughs.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

She stalks ahead of him for a few paces, not that she knows where she's going.

"Are you really okay?"

"Noah, I didn't even fall a foot-"

"No, I mean mentally."

She stops, "Why would you ask?"

"You haven't been… yourself lately."

At this point he's caught up with her and they start walking together. She rolls her eyes and looks off at the trees, "As if you know me."

"I guess I don't. I could… if you'd let me."

"Since when does Noah Puckerman want to get to know me?"

"Since when does Rachel Berry call me up for something other than a sexual escapade?"

She takes four steps ahead of him again, looking over her shoulder, "Touché. I'm surprised you know what 'escapade' means."

"Well… I only half do, but whatever. The SATs had to count for something."

There's that laugh again, and he can already feel a tug he wasn't looking for or needing. She starts walking backwards to face him, hands clasped behind her back and a smile dancing on her lips. The sunlight's streaming through the trees and hits her skin or hair every so often, lighting her up.

It's then he notices that her eyes _are _pretty. Gorgeous.

She cuts off his train of thought with a simple, crazy-girl sentence that he wasn't expecting.

"Have you ever imagined your own funeral?"

What. The hell. Was this why she called him? To go all morbid on his ass? Why is she always so obsessed with death? He thought that time back under the bleachers was just an exaggeration (why does he remember that conversation word for word again?). She can't really… can she?

"Not really."

The smile's gone now. He has to admit, it was a lot brighter with it there. When she stops smiling, she stops talking too.

"I have. I do all the time."

The only thing he's really thought about regarding death, his death, is who would get his X-box. But no, it's just Rachel. She's _crazy_.

"Why?"

"People will finally appreciate me when I'm gone. They'll miss me. But I won't miss them… any of them. I won't have to put up with everything they do to me."

He can't help feeling a sting of guilt, because he used to be the one throwing slushies and calling her names. She can't really want to die because of that. Well Kurt sort of did back in January, but Finn talked him out of it and he got help. He only felt that way because he's gay, right? Rachel's not. She doesn't get bullied because of her sexuality…

But she still gets bullied. And his douchebag best friend cheated on her. She doesn't really have any friends, either… How can that be enough to die?

"Yeah, but you'll be dead."

"That's better than being ridiculed."

She turns away again, and before he can ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, they leave the woods and step onto the trestle bridge.

Her mouth drops open, "Noah, this is beautiful! Look at that waterfall! How did you find this place?"

He keeps walking until they reach the middle and sits down, legs dangling over the edge, "Finn and I used to ride our bikes out here and play Cowboys and Indians. He's probably forgotten about it by now. It's where I come to think."

She plops down beside him, staring down into the water, "This is wonderful. Thank you."

He grins. Anything to get that smile back.

…

Since he showed her the railroad, it's the only place she wants to go. It becomes a regular thing. He picks her up and they spend their time there, sometimes for three, four hours, just talking.

It's weird. He never thought he'd be friends with a girl, especially Rachel. Apparently, hell has frozen over because it's happening and he doesn't really mind.

Maybe because she's gotten so weird. Not annoying weird. _Scary weird_.

It's a warm day and they're sitting on the bridge talking again. Who would've known he was much of a talker? Guess if anyone could make him talk, it's Rachel.

She stands up in the middle of the rails with her arms outstretched, head leaned back towards the sky.

"What would you do if a train came along right now?"

_Who asks questions like that?_

"I told you, these tracks are abandoned," he says as he throws pebbles over the side, watching as they ripple across the river, "Trains don't run through Lima anymore."

"Still. What if?"

She looks like she's ready to be hit. Like she's waiting for it.

"We'd run like hell."

"And if I didn't run?"

He isn't sure what she's getting at. Does she _want_ to get hit by a train? That's some messed up shit.

"I'd push you out of the way."

"That's very noble of you. But what if I didn't want you to save me?"

He tries to stare her down, but she won't meet his gaze. She wants to die? Is _that _it? That's what this is about? Is he some kind of… buffer between her and suicide? Why would she put that on him? Then again… is it worse than her being dead?

"I'd do it anyway."

She smiles a little, but not in a happy way.

"You know I'd be angry with you. Maybe I wouldn't even speak to you ever again. Hypothetically, of course."

"Hypothetically, I wouldn't really care. At least you'd be alive."

They stand there in silence for a few minutes, and he tosses another rock over the bridge.

"What does 'hypothetically' mean, anyway?"

She laughs, burying her face in her hands. Her smile lets him know they'll make it through another day.

If only those moments could keep her from her curiosity.

…

"Happy Fourth of July!" she sings as she climbs into his truck, smoothing down her dress as she sits. It's not as short as her skirts usually are, but he's not complaining. He's found that he appreciates her for more than her legs now, which is weird, but whatever. If this is what everyone meant by "changing for the better," it isn't _so _bad. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he sort of likes cheering Berry up. She's pretty cool once he gets past her annoying personality – her personality that's faded considerably since they first met.

Maybe that's it. He just wants to see what's hurting her, making her tick. He cares about his fellow Jews. He just never planned on starting to like her.

"What's got you so happy?" he asks as they pull away from the city. The sun's setting, but he's pretty sure he remembered the flashlights and blanket.

"We're getting away from the block party," her jaw locks as she says this, staring at her hands in her lap, "Mrs. Delia wouldn't stop asking me about college and… my fathers were fighting again."

"You didn't tell me they've been fighting."

"I thought… well, I didn't know it would be a big deal."

"It must be hard," he says quietly as they pull off the road, hands gripping the steering wheel, "My parents never actually went through with the divorce, but they still fought before… he left. It sucked."

"I'm sorry. I forgot… I mean, at least my dads are still there."

"It's cool. Sometimes it's better being apart."

She smiles as she grabs a flashlight from his hand, swirling the beam of light around in circles, "I never knew you were so well spoken."

"I can be nice when I want to."

"I know."

They make their way to the bridge, spreading the blanket out and shutting off the lights. In a few minutes the fireworks start, illuminating the sky with every color possible. She stars up at the show with a serene expression on her face, watching intently until every single spark fades away.

"Don't ever forget that you're a really good person, okay?"

Her voice cuts through the blasts and he looks over at her, legs swinging over the side, skirt and hair fluttering in the breeze. She's the first person who's ever told him that.

"Whatever, Berry."

"I'm serious, Noah. You really are wonderful, if only you'd show it."

She places her head on his shoulder as the fireworks continue, laughing as he tells her the story about how he and Finn decided to make their own fireworks show when they were nine. For a little while, she forgets about the rest of the world.

…

"One day, we should jump off this bridge."

He lifts his head up from where he was laying on the tracks, squinting at her through the sunlight. She's sitting near the edge with her knees pulled towards her chest, staring down at the rushing water below, almost hypnotized by it. It wouldn't bother him, but the look on her face… it makes him uneasy.

"I don't think so. It doesn't look like there's really a safe way to get out. It's probably polluted, anyway. We could jump off the one by the lake, if you want."

"This one's special."

He isn't sure how good of a swimmer she is, but considering her size she doesn't look like she could handle the current. Not to mention the only way of getting out would be to climb over the rocks and brush to the shore or to climb back up the bridge, neither of which seem like a good option. Does she think doing something dangerous will make her feel more alive?

"I still don't think it's safe to jump."

She lies down next to him, pinching him in the arm playfully, "Chicken?"

"Me? You're calling _me _chicken?"

"I guess so, Puckerman. Why don't you man up?"

"You're ridiculous."

"That's why you love me."

She settles down and the conversation goes back to normal – as normal as it ever gets. But in the back of his mind, he still doesn't like the way she's looking at the water. He never will.

…

Looking back, he should've seen it. There were a thousand chances where he should've seen it. But he didn't and he'll never forgive himself for that.

"I want to fly."

He snorts, "Get on a plane."

"No. Like a bird, silly."

"Of course you do. Good luck with that one."

"Wouldn't it be nice, though? To just… float? Without a care in the world?"

He doesn't really have an answer for her. Not one that she'd like, so he doesn't say anything as they stare up at the clouds and she unexpectedly grabs his hand.

"That's the last thing I'll do before I die."

_._

_I didn't think much of it then  
>But it's starting to all make sense<em>

.

The summer ends and they head back to school two different people. Everyone's pretty surprised that they're beginning their senior year as friends. They were never likely candidates, but the world's changed. He's past the point of caring what they think.

She hates school and lets him know at least twice a day. Like every year, the jocks begin their slushie war. Though she hoped they'd forgotten about her, they haven't, and he finds her stumbling out of the girls bathroom during fourth period, wiping her eyes and trying to hide the blue stain on her shirt front, stringy wet hair sticking to her face. He beats up three football players and gets suspended from the team, but it's worth it.

Rachel never let that kind of thing bother her. She always stood against it because she knew she was better than them. One day she'd be making millions on Broadway while they pumped gas. But now… it's like she's lost her armor.

Finn tries to apologize to her, saying he told them not to do it, but she only pushes her face farther into her locker until Puck tells him to leave her alone. Santana hooks her arm into his and pulls Finn away, sneering that the dwarf isn't worth their time.

Of course, the Cheerios waste no time making her life hell. They pass notes to her during class about how she's a worthless bitch, deface her locker, pull her hair and trip her in the hallway. They photoshop her head onto naked girls and plaster them all over her car. _Rachel's a whore, _they whisper, and start rumors about how he's only with her because she puts out whenever he wants, how she worked as a prostitute over the summer. He even hears some Cheerios cornered her in the bathroom and beat her up, although she won't talk to him about it. It still worries him when she won't show him the sneaking black and blue peeking out from underneath her top.

She tells him not to be so concerned. This is her life. It's been this way since freshman year. Maybe not this intense, but it's only because they realize she's _upset_. It's easier to kick her when she's down.

The administration can't do anything about it. The Cheerios bring the school money and money's all that matters. What exactly does Rachel Berry contribute to the school? A losing glee club, that's what, not that she even sings anymore. She's refused every solo since the beginning of the year to the delight of the other members. They're so happy about getting to sing and be noticed, they don't see the way she hangs back. Mr. Schuester showed some concern, but dropped it after she said she was fine for the tenth time.

He doesn't understand what she did to ever deserve this hell.

They go out to the train tracks every day as the leaves change and it's the only place she smiles, if she ever does. She won't tell him what's going on, even though he knows school's awful and her dads are probably inching closer to divorce by the minute. Then again, they wouldn't actually need a divorce. Ohio doesn't recognize their marriage.

"That'll make it easier legally, at least," she says dryly, "No strings attached."

He wants to shake her, snap her out of it, but he knows he can't. He doesn't know how to fix her. She's sad all the time, but who wouldn't be in her situation, and he does everything he can to get her to smile. It's harder than it was before.

He spends his time in the library looking up _depression_ online. Maybe he should make her talk about it. Maybe he should take her to the doctor. Maybe he should tell her fathers.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

In the end he settles for just being there. Anything else would only upset her more. He walks her to class and takes her wherever she wants and stays by her side in glee club. No one ever notices anything except for him and it pisses him off. He's the only one who's there.

He lays awake at night, knowing she's alone, and wonders just how she gets through the hours when it's just her and her tangled brain.

…

The nails on the train tracks are loose. Sharp.

He watches her as she twirls the rusty nail in her hand like some kind of toy, eyes widening as she lightly drags it across her wrist.

"Don't do that, Rachel."

"Why?" she says calmly, "Does it _scare _you?"

It scares him more than he can say. It's what he fears when he can't be with her.

"Maybe."

"As if I'd actually do it. I know I'm theatrical, Noah, but blood and gore? _Please. _It's so _cliché_."

"That's a relief."

There's a look in her eyes – disbelief, maybe, that someone could actually care. It's gone before he has a chance to blink.

"If I kill myself, it'll at least be original."

Well he could take that a lot of ways, but decides to brush it off, "Of course. You'd find a way."

"Well… it'd be special, in any case. I don't know. Blood's too messy. No sense in making anyone clean up after you."

He expects her to toss the nail. It worries him a bit when she pockets it instead, and he can only wonder where she'll put it.

…

The days get colder as October turns into November. She hides her wrists from him because it's cold but he's scared it's something else. She says she can't sleep anymore and lies awake listening to everyone fight. They skip school and he watches her while she naps during the day because she doesn't want to be alone. She looks like she's in pain even when she's sleeping. He finds a razor on top of her dresser underneath some playbills, and takes it even though he knows it's easy to get more.

He throws it off the bridge when she isn't there. It's not as satisfying as he thought it would be.

She props herself up on her elbow one night when they're laying on the tracks after school.

"I want to sleep with you."

He almost falls into the river, "_What_?"

"You heard me."

She doesn't move, the same stoic expression on her face. He sputters. Where is this coming from?

"Yeah, but… I mean, I thought we were friends, Rach."

"Since when are you ever 'just friends' with a girl?"

"Well… I guess you're the first, actually."

"Why? Am I not good enough?"

How can she have to ask that? He doesn't like the girls he sleeps with. He only wants them for one thing. She's different. He actually cares about her enough to… what? Stick around? Be there? He isn't sure, but he knows the thought of the two of them having sex just because and turning their relationship into something completely toxic actually makes him a little sick.

"No. It means your better than all the rest of them."

She's angry for a little while, but gets over it pretty quickly. She needs him too much. Or maybe he needs her too much.

Now, he can't help but wonder if she only said all that because she didn't want to die a virgin.

…

"Wouldn't it be nice to just fall forever?"

"Some days, maybe. But I think I'd get hungry."

"Oh, Noah," she shakes her head, laughing, like she's in on the joke and he's oblivious. Just like always.

"What?"

"You make me happy. I'm going to miss you."

He assumes she's talking about the fact that she's going away for Thanksgiving. He takes hold of her hand, balancing on the rails, "I'll miss you too."

"You won't forget about me?"

The dead leaves float down the river. She's smiling again and that makes him smile too. She's beautiful when she smiles.

"Of course not."

…

He gets a phone call. The worst phone call of his life.

Her dad wants to know if he's seen her anywhere. _Seen her. _No one's seen her since yesterday.

Yesterday…

_Wouldn't it be nice to just fall forever?_

Shit.

He jumps in his truck and speeds all the way to the city limits, crashing through the woods to those same tracks, the tracks she danced along so long ago. The memories start playing in his head like a shitty soap opera – the fireworks, her laughing, every single time they walked along this path and she hit him for the stupid things he said, the time she spread her arms out wide and asked about flying, about dying, how they spilled their hearts to each other without even meaning to, how he might've even loved her if he had the chance… He sprints along until he reaches the bridge, hoping he's wrong…

Her sweater's there, hanging by a nail. An envelope is tucked underneath a rock, his name adorning the front. _Noah._

This isn't happening. _This isn't real._

"Rachel! _Rachel_!" he cups his hands around his mouth and screams for her, as if she'd hear. As if she's still…

He screams until he can't anymore. He falls to his knees. He cries.

…

She jumped off the trestle bridge.

He can't help but think it's fitting.

She always wanted to fly.

…

They fish her body out downstream, pale white and frozen. The body bag's ready and waiting. It was a suicide, no questions asked.

He gets drunker than he's ever been and spends a week on the bathroom floor, feeling nothing but booze and vomit. He only stops because his mom doesn't want him to die of alcohol poisoning.

It shouldn't really matter. Rachel's dead.

He takes her letter and shoves it underneath his pillow, living his life in a haze while her family finds out, the school finds out, the glee club finds out, and everybody cries and expects him to do _something _because didn't they have this weird love hate relationship going on? He sits through the wake and the funeral and the burial without a word, leaving roses on her tombstone and skipping last period to sit underneath the bleachers, no matter the weather, clawing at the dirt.

He sings a song when they ask him to, a song that might actually mean something if they asked, but he doesn't really show it.

This isn't fair. He should've noticed. He tells the police what he can but that's not much and no one really cares. She did it to herself. Who wants to remember the unpopular girl, the annoying girl?

Her dads clean out her locker and move out of town. They sell most of her stuff. He wants to ask if they found the razors, if they ever wondered, if they saw the way she was fading.

The autopsy says she drowned. If she hadn't, the cold would've killed her anyway. No one mentions the scabbing cuts on her arms.

Early morning on a day in January, lying in the snow, thinking about where he could get enough alcohol to knock himself out, he reads her letter. He reads it over and over, sitting in the snow until his fingers turn blue.

_I'm sorry I ever did this to you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. _

He cries again and hates himself for it because he doesn't want to cry anymore. He shouldn't cry. She never cried. She doesn't want him to cry.

_I want you to live your life, whatever the hell that means. _

He goes back to the trestle bridge and rips down the long forgotten police tape. He jumps off in March just for _her_, because he's not chicken. She always wanted this, and he needs to give it to her.

While he's falling, he can't help but think this is one of the last things she felt before she died. Before she let herself be swept away, before she swallowed a babbling brook, all she felt was air.

She flew. And then she crash landed.

_I don't know if you loved me. I don't know if I loved you either. I don't think I know what love is._

When he hits the water, he almost forgets to come back up for air. He almost forgets to keep his mouth shut and not just breathe in and let go. Why not? She did it.

But it's not what she would've wanted for him. She'd be angry at him just like he's a little angry at her, so his head breaks the surface and grabs hold to a support beam, watching the rapids swirl around him.

He climbs back up and sits on the edge of the tracks and talks to her like he always used to, like every other day. He stares off into the woods and the water and keeps expecting her to walk out from behind a tree, laughing, telling him it was all just a joke and she's right here, she'll never leave.

_I know you're the best –and perhaps the only – friend I've ever had. _

Maybe he'll never get over her. He doesn't want to. She deserves to be remembered.

_Thank you for making my life worthwhile, but it's time for me to go._

School and glee club aren't the same. Everyone's only looking at what was. He doesn't want to sing anymore because it feels like it's their fault. They never really listened to her.

But he listened, and that's important. She loved him for that, if she ever loved.

He made her life better. He has to believe he'll see her again or he can't get through the day.

There's a cross nailed to a tree for her near the bridge. He puts flowers there every day. On graduation day, he hangs his cap there for her. He stands on the bridge alone just like before she waltzed into his life. He stands and remembers and says hello and goodbye.

Her music dances through the trees as he leaves the woods again.

_I'm mixed up, I'll be blunt, now the rain is just  
>Washing you out of my hair and out of my mind<em>

_Keeping an eye on the world  
>From so many thousands of feet off the ground, I'm over you now<br>I'm at home in the clouds, and towering over your head_


End file.
